


Friction

by ouroborosnakes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroborosnakes/pseuds/ouroborosnakes
Summary: “Kid, listen. I’m trying to do you a favor. You need sharper skills if you don’t want to get yourself killed.”“... Did Colonel send you?” Raiden asks quietly.“I’m not your backup, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Relationships: Raiden/Solid Snake
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	Friction

**Author's Note:**

> so this is different. lol.

Rose’s nagging reminders intertwine with Colonel’s almost robotic instructions, sprinkled in with a new bit of information Raiden doesn’t catch until it’s obvious he wasn’t listening to begin with. Even in his VR training, the footsteps of patrolling soldiers was loud enough he could hear over purposeful distractions, unlike now.

“Did you catch all that, Jack?” 

“Yeah, of course. Listen, Rose, I gotta go.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes, Raiden, is there an issue?”

“No,” God, why did _he_ jump in. “It’s just, er, hard to focus when you’re always talking to me.” 

“Oh, you’re right. We’ll leave you be. Call me if you need anything, okay Jack?”

“Yeah. Talk to you soon, Rose,” and he ends the call before anyone can let out another breath in his eardrums. He wasn’t completely briefed up on _what_ exactly the Codec system was, but from his understanding, he had no control on when he was being tracked. Of course he didn’t - he was always being monitored, studied and recorded, just like in his VR training. It would be nice to at least put a snooze on incoming calls until his nerves settled. 

Sneaking around the corner, he waits, then inches close enough to trigger the automatic door. It opens, followed by silence. No one was close enough to see it and curiously investigate. Good. Peeking his head around once more just to be sure, he equips his tranq gun and slips out the door, light on his feet, sprinting steadily across the strut and to the next door, which opens before he is close enough to activate the sensor. Drawing his gun, he checks to make sure safety is off and missteps, catching his foot on a hinge in the clanky metal, which drops the piece out, Raiden following onto the bridge beneath him with a loud clutter and groan, dropping his gun that spirals away from him. 

“What was that?” Turning over and onto his knees, Raiden claws for his weapon, pointing it in the direction of the voice.

“Did you hear something?” Glancing behind him, he sees an unmarked door and silently wishes he can roll right into it. A little clumsily he runs right for it, which slides open louder than he wanted, leading him into a storage room of sorts. Sliding into the corner, he squats behind a stack of cardboard boxes, wincing at the pressure put on his ankle. 

Footsteps outside. The door opens, flashlights shine a broad sweep of the room. Muttered words. A radio call. One more sweep. Boots stomp on their way out, the door then slams shut. Waiting a few more seconds, Raiden lets out the breath he’d been holding and stands, quickly rummaging through the room for something to tie his ankle with before it gets any worse.

Making a mental note to pick up a first aid kit the next time he runs across one, he feels his way around the room, working out a makeshift splint of torn cloth, wrapped bulkily around his ankle to keep it straight. Sitting on the cold floor, Raiden sorts through his inventory of items and picks apart a ration. He could spare a couple minutes to eat and let himself rest, though this would typically raise suspicion from his CO. When there’s no incoming calls, he lets his posture slack, closing his eyes for a second. It wasn’t until then he realized how strong the smell of the water outside clung to him; overwhelming and nauseating and _salty_. Scrunching his nose in discomfort, he opens his eyes and is met with the wrong end of a SOCOM, inches away from his face, steady. 

“Rank?”

“Uh-”

“Rank?” The voice repeats, clicking the safety off. At his side, Raiden’s hand twitches, the gun then waving towards the movement. “Don’t think about grabbing your gun.” With the handgun pointed back at his face, the safety is turned back on without another word, pocketed, then a flashlight is blinding Raiden, who cringes at the abrupt light.

“You’d be dead right now,” comes the flat statement as the flashlight is also turned off and put away. Blinking to try and adjust to the light, Raiden is grabbed by his elbow and pulled onto his feet, turned and pushed against the cool, metallic wall before he can catch a glimpse of the man’s face.

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” He asks, running over everything he’d been taught in his torture resistance training. Hands pulled behind his back and pinned with one hand, the other hand pats him down, rough against his suit. It pauses momentarily when it encounters the knife in Raiden’s suit, hidden against his side for moments like this, but ignores it and continues his patdown. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

“Do you really think it’s wise to ask questions?” Breath strong of cigarettes, Raiden involuntarily shivers, which elicits a small chuckle, almost unnoticeable, if not for a warm exhale against Raiden’s neck. “What are you doing here, rookie?”

“I’m _not_ a rookie-”

“Don’t try to argue back, especially in this position. Like I said, you’d be dead by now.” Exhaling through his nose impatiently, Raiden wills himself to calm his temper.

“What are _you_ doing here, patting me down and not taking any of my weapons? I’m injured and trying to regain stamina.”

“You let your guard down. An injury is no excuse to get yourself caught.” 

“You’re obviously not here to kill me, and whatever information you’re trying to get out of me won’t work - especially with the way you’re doing things.”

“The way _I’m_ doing things? I want to know who let someone like you out here alone.”

“Who said I’m alone?”

“Kid,” sighing, the man kicks Raiden’s ankle with the tip of his boot, his posture then slacking in response and wincing. “Listen. I’m trying to do you a favor. You need sharper skills if you don’t want to get yourself killed.”

“... Did Colonel send you?” Raiden asks quietly. 

“I’m not your backup, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Then why are you doing this?” With another quiet laugh, the man discards his cigarette.

“You don’t listen, do you?” Releasing Raiden’s wrists, he doesn’t step back from his close proximity, Raiden almost hesitating on turning around. “If you want to talk to me, look at me.” Accepting his defeat, he turns, and is met with the neck of a man in a dark, drab uniform, nothing distinguishable in the dim light of the room. A mask covers his face, sans for his green eyes, which bore holes into Raiden’s face, examining his features quietly. It’s pulled unevenly around his Adam's apple, presumably having tugged it back down after finishing his smoke. His eyes follow Raiden’s to his mask, then clears his throat to divert his attention back up.

“Who are you?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you know how dangerous this is.” Raiden blinks once, twice.

“Huh?” Before he can mutter another word, his cheeks are squeezed together when a hand grasps at his jaw, hand strong. His eyes dilate in surprise, and he’s sure the man smirks beneath his mask. A pinky strokes at the pulse of his neck, quickening rapidly at the touch. “H-hey,” he tries to make out, coming out as a mumble.

“You might not be the brightest, but I trust you’re smart enough to know if you want to do this or not.” It occurs to Raiden that he doesn’t really have the opportunity to respond, but his eyebrows pinch together in thought before subtly nodding, curious as to where exactly this was going. “You let me know if you change your mind.” Nodding once more with more reassurance, the grip on his jaw lightens minutely, but enough it doesn’t hurt. 

“If you know anything about sneaking missions,” he begins, “you should know that there’s never enough time to slack off. You may have found a decent enough hiding spot, but you know some lazy grunt will also find this room as a way to get away from patrol. It’s inevitable. Never doubt your enemy in any situation.” As he speaks, the hand that’s not holding Raiden’s jaw idly brushes the shape of his head, down his neck, his shoulder, down his arm, which dangles loosely at his sides, though he tenses at the action. His hand turns inward, back up his arm and down his side instead, slower in feeling him up. “When they don’t recognize your uniform, they’ll typically call for backup, if not outright shoot you first. You need to have your weapon ready at all times, ready for anything. If you ever need a break to nurse a wound, get to somewhere most people won’t get to. No soldier wants to go searching in vents unless you give them a reason to.” Listening along, Raiden nods, more attentive in response to the touches. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices how long the man’s fingernails are, clean and rounded. As if he could tell what Raiden was thinking about, he shifts his hold to hook his thumb into Raiden’s cheek, whose tongue darts to touch the foreign object on instinct, despite himself. In response, the man makes a pleased hum, then slipping his digit between Raiden’s teeth. Locking eyes, Raiden dares himself to purse his lips, loosely mouthing the skin, up to the point it reaches the fabric of his glove. Humming once more with an underlying groan, the thumb experimentally pushes a little further, palm flush against Raiden’s cheek. His nail touches the roof of his mouth, dangerously close to scraping the sensitive skin - the thought sends a cold chill down his spine in an odd anticipation, turning into a soft moan.

“Yeah,” the man mumbles, satisfied with that reaction. From his hip inwards, his palm runs over the developing bulge in Raiden’s suit, adding more pressure. In his best attempt to maintain a neutral reaction, his knees buckle instead, which prompts the thumb in his mouth to retreat, then turning Raiden back around, giving him enough room to be able to prop himself up on his hands, still a little unsure but excited nonetheless. 

This was like nothing he had ever experienced before - something he’d never considered, but the forcefulness but teasing touches clouded the reminder he was on a life or death mission. 

“Hey,” Raiden starts, now with the ability to speak properly, “about what you were saying earlier. Are _you_ paying attention?”

“Are you not?” He asks instead, making Raiden frown, muttering something under his breath. “If you aren’t, then busy yourself with something else,” and two fingers tap at Raiden’s bottom lip, waiting until he exposes the cavern of his mouth, warm and wet, playing idly with his tongue. Trailing down his stomach, the hand returns to brushing against his dick, taunt against the suit. Pushing forward, the size of his body presses against Raiden’s back, to which he can feel an equally hard erection firm against his backside. “How’re you holdin’ up?” Mouthing something against the fingers, Raiden doesn’t bite or push off, which the other takes as an okay to continue, beginning to slowly rock his hips in a steady rhythm. 

“Have you ever been with another man before?” He asks, as if he was trying to make small talk and not grinding his cock against Raiden’s ass with his fingers being covered in drool. 

“Hrm,” was the sound Raiden made in response, beginning to push his hips back in response. Rose briefly crosses his mind, but he didn’t feel this was really the right time to mention his girlfriend was monitoring him, as she was a part of the mission he was operating. No, maybe not include that detail. However, having a girlfriend should have probably been mentioned prior to this point. 

Whatever. This was a new and unique development that he could have died without experiencing, but it sure felt good. Bracing himself on his elbows and pushing his weight on the wall on off his feet, a strong arm wraps around his abdomen, the fingers from his mouth going to stroke Raiden through his suit, bucking his hips in response. 

“Ah-” gasping, Raiden lets his head loll, body being rutted against like it was just there for pleasure. Being manhandled was an exhilarating feeling, bringing him closer to the edge. He really did _not_ want to soil his suit, but taking it off would be too much of a hassle, and actual skin-to-skin intimate contact would make him cum immediately, which would also be embarrassing. 

“Kid,” comes the gruff voice panting in his ear, “what’s your name?”

“Snake,” it was what Colonel had referred to him as before abruptly changing it without his knowledge prior, so it wasn’t _inaccurate_. However, the grinding stopped completely, as if the man knew it wasn’t his actual codename. Before he can clarify, his fingers are back in his mouth and his movements return with force, as if angry at his response, effectively shutting him up.

“Cl’s,” he whimpers, drool slipping from the corners of his mouth. Holding his hip firm, the man ruts against him vehemently, and before he seemingly reaches orgasm, returns to grasping at Raiden’s neglected cock, harsh enough it’s almost painfully unpleasant, but the friction itself is enough stimulation to whine.

“Look at me when you cum,” barks an order, and when Raiden refuses to turn his head, the wet fingers hook into the floor of his mouth, forcibly turning his head towards him with enough force Raiden has no doubt he could snap his neck if he wanted to, and probably had before. He did notice that the mask had been raised slightly; enough to see his beard and his bottom lip. Enough to remain anonymous, though he could hardly make out any other features. “Tell me when.”

“Fuck,” Raiden hisses, clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ _Hey._ I told you to look at me.” Pinching at his mouth with force, the blonde opens his eyes to blearily look behind him, the man stroking him impatiently, trying to get Raiden off before he himself does. The realization that he was, unfortunately, going to get cum inside his suit that he would have to clean _immediately_ almost ruins his orgasm, but thinking about doing such an act in the nude blossoms goosebumps across his skin, pushing him over the edge.  
“Cumming,” gasping, the hand increases its rough jerk, thrusting against him in the same reckless rhythm, going rigid when he finishes, Raiden shortly after, release plentiful, stroked until the end and then some, until he complained of oversensitivity.

Though he doesn’t completely get off Raiden, the stranger pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a few drags before actually letting up, shuffling away and collecting himself. Curiously, Raiden’s eyes dart towards the other’s crotch, though he sees no visible stain, despite the very obvious he himself now showcased.

“Take no offense. It’s never been much.”

“Oh,” Raiden says, almost disappointed. He didn’t mean to sound that way, but he was a little. 

“But I think you came enough for the both of us.” Running his hand through his hair, Raiden looks away, uncomfortably trying to tug at his suit to not have it stuck to his flesh, sticky and warm. 

“Are you going to tell me who you are now?” He asks instead, double-checking he still had his equipment, attempting to distract himself from any other embarrassment.

“Just know I’m someone who spared your life.”

“At the expense of ruining my suit.”

“Would you have rather I shot you?” 

“No,” he concludes after a brief moment of thought. “But I could’ve gone without the mess.” 

“Just make sure you don’t leave any DNA around.” Also confirming he had his own equipment, he pitches his cigarette before adding, “and the name’s Duke.” 

“I hope this will be nothing we’ll ever speak of, Duke.” 

“Sure, kid,” and he gives a brief smile before very quickly pulling out his flashlight and momentarily blinding Raiden, slipping away before there’s another word spoken. After adjusting his eyes once more to the darkness, he picks around the forgotten ration, now covered in bugs. _Gross_. Hopefully he’ll come across a bathroom or somewhere he can try and wash himself off, but ideally he won’t be seen by anyone overall for the rest of his mission, investigating the exterior door before ducking back onto the strut, heading back to his original destination.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this ship isn't very... popular as others but i think this specific scenario fits the dynamic better. i did try to avoid tags so people who aren't really into this will see it. duke is also in reference to escape from new york.
> 
> thanks for reading! not sure how happy i am with this but i hope you found some enjoyment in it.


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